The Nightshift's Cabin
by Crazyangel1
Summary: Two beds, five CSIs. . .if you think this is the only dilemma this scientists are going to face during their night at ‘Chuck’s Cabins’ YOU’RE WRONG!
1. Hello Chuck

Disclaimer: Don't own them, blah, blah, blah don't sue me, blah, blah but I do own the filthy character named 'Chuck'.  
  
Author's notes: Big thanks to Crystal for the beta reading!  
  
  
  
***  
  
Staggering out of the Tahoe (their home away from home for the last 13 hours) the weary team stands shoulder to shoulder to stare at the heavenly sight.  
  
Sara-crooked ponytail, black jeans and wrinkled shirt-doesn't know whether to smile or puke; a combination of feelings she'd never had before.  
  
Grissom is not so confused. "This place is a dump. Let's get back in the car and drive a few more miles. Maybe we can find something better and a lot cleaner," Grissom said, already starting back to the car.  
  
"You go. I'm staying," Catherine states, "I ain't stepping a damn foot inside that filthy car for at least nine hours. It reeks of God knows what and we've been cramped in there for thirteen hours. It's bad enough that we had to DRIVE back because *someone* forgot to buy return tickets but don't make us arrive in Vegas looking like we were attacked by a pack of wolves. We've been in there long enough. I feel like cattle."  
  
"Moo," Warrick says as Sara and Nick snicker.  
  
A sound cuts the snickering short as a dog trots out of the darkness and heads towards the car. The canine sniffs the vehicle and snorts its disapproval as if to confirm Catherine's assessment of the car's sanitary state. The animal then lifts up one of its rear paws and, to top it all, pees abundantly over one of the hub cups.  
  
The team stares, too tired to shoo away the dog. Sara scowls.  
  
"Oh for crying out loud! That dog just peed on-that's it-I'm with Cath, I'm not sleeping in there again, it smells funny, almost as if something died."  
  
"Yeah, my spirit," Warrick mumbles.  
  
Nick glances at Sara; she is still making disgusted gestures every time the mere concept of having to climb in the car again crosses her mind. Nick winces.  
  
"I'm sorry boss but I'm with the women. I mean, take a look at it," Nick waves at the pathetic remains of what used to be a clean Tahoe, "It's like something out of Woodstock. Besides, I need-and this is no exaggeration- NEED to sleep on something solid and flat, not Sara's shoulder."  
  
Sara lifts a hand, "May I mention a drooling problem?"  
  
Nick makes a 'ha, ha' sound and snaps back into a serious face, "I mean it."  
  
Grissom is about to lean on the car when he actually looks at the surface. His upper lip curls upwards at the filth. Self-consciously, he wipes his hands, "This place is a dump, look at the sign: 'C CK' S BINS'. What the hell is that?"  
  
Four heads swivel towards their boss, as if to say 'don't play the fool with us'.  
  
"It's 'CHUCK'S CABINS' and where there's a cabin, there's a bed and right now, there's also my happiness and momentary bliss. That is all I want from the world right now, I'm not asking for the Four Seasons," says Catherine.  
  
Grissom frowns.  
  
"Whoever's with me raise their hand," Catherine says as she raises hers. Warrick quickly raises his two arms and Nick contributes with his two arms and one of his legs.  
  
Sara sighs, "Normally Grissom, I would side with you one this one---"  
  
"Neat freaks stick together," Nick coughs with a conspicuous fist over his mouth.  
  
Sara glares at him and lifts one of her feet, "Would you please haul your ass against my shoe, I'm too tired to kick it myself."  
  
Warrick stifles a laugh.  
  
"Looks like you lost Griss, it's a democracy."  
  
***  
  
Bags in hand, the exhausted troops trudge up the dusty path leading to the manager's cabin. Wood squeaking, they climb the steps towards the small quasi-porch. Catherine knocks on a beat-up door with a mosquito net on it and the beer smell slaps her in the face like an angry hand.  
  
Behind a battered counter, which had seen better days, is what Nick thought, at first, was an alcoholic and dishevelled version of 'Babe the pig'. The owner has his feet up on the 'L' shaped counter. A small TV rests on the smaller arm of the 'L' between his two stinky feet. Grissom and Sara, who are a step ahead of Catherine, take a step back at the same time, both equally disgusted.  
  
The unkempt guy is gobbling a bag of chips; he doesn't seem to notice them. He takes a swig of his beer and burps loudly enough to make the floorboards tremble. Catherine's catches Grissom's appalled expression and seizes his arm just as he is about to dash to the Tahoe to disinfect himself.  
  
Not very subtly, Cath clears her throat. The guy doesn't look away from the flickering screen, "Can I help you?" he mumbles after popping a handful of chips into his mouth and spitting the rest over his pants as he spoke.  
  
Cath struggles not to hurl at such revolting sight, reminding herself of the bed that would be awaiting her once this hideous ordeal of checking in was over. A shower and a bed, not a seat and a moist towel like last night.  
  
"Chuck, right?" she pastes a grin across her face and cocks her head. It never hurt to use one's charm, she thinks, even if it means throwing up later.  
  
The innocent gesture makes Chuck's heart melt enough to put his attack of the chips on a temporary hold. After almost collapsing on the ground from shock he stands behind the counter, smiling like a dim-wit.  
  
Sara and Warrick exchange knowing glances; Nick and Grissom do the same. Catherine's cute flutter of eyebrows has been useful more times that they can count.  
  
"Chuck, two cabins please," she says, showing him two of her fingers.  
  
Sara wonders off and finds a vending machine. She digs her hands in her pockets and is rewarded with change. Thank God for small miracles, she thinks. She inserts the coins and with a smile, pushes the 'Snickers' logo. She leans down to collect her candy but her hand gropes nothing but air.  
  
A bad night of sleep can make Sara a bit prone-scratch that, *MORE* prone- to violent behaviour when confronted with an obstacle between her and her goal.  
  
She swats the diabolic-coin-eating-machine with her hand. "Spit it." She growls. "Come on you bastard," she mutters as she hits the logo a healthy number of times.  
  
Sara looks sideways for eavesdroppers and then she gives the Snicker- hostage-taking-machine a good kick. The metallic sound catches Nick's attention; he nudges Warrick on the ribs to witness the strange once-in-a- life-time event.  
  
"C'mon, pleeeeease?" she pleads with her palms joined in a prayer gesture. Warrick and Nick snicker.  
  
Sara belts at the machine again and pushes the button with frantic passion. Warrick shakes his head.  
  
Grissom is barely aware of the racket Sara is doing. "Could you repeat that?" Grissom says, flicking a fragment of a chip off his sweater with a disgusted face.  
  
"I have only one cabin left," Chuck repeats, "Two king-sized beds, bathroom and kitchen."  
  
Grissom looks at him in disbelief, "You have to be joking. ALL the other cabins are taken-you mean this hellhole of a place-"  
  
Catherine jabs an elbow in Grissom's side and smiles at Chuck, "We'll take it."  
  
Chuck turned around and grabbed a key from a rusty nail on the wall. He handed Cath the key. She took it between two fingers as if the thing were radioactive material, "Thanks."  
  
"It's the last one to the right," Chuck instructed before returning to his perch, the commercials were over and so was Chuck's attention span.  
  
"Let's go Sara, we have a bed," Cath informed with glee as she passed Sara on the vending machine. The machine had finally relinquished the candy, coerced by Sara's physical and verbal abuse.  
  
***  
  
As they padded past a bunch of cabins the people inside could hear a man's voice whining over and over, "Cath, this is filthy. I've seen dumpsters cleaner than this.we should go back to the car and find-"  
  
"Aw, for the love of God! Put a sock in it Grissom!" A female voice would reply.  
  
TBC. 


	2. When it rains, it pours

I apologize for the delay, my computer was kidnapped by alien rebels from the Three Legged Chicken Galaxy.  
  
No?  
  
You don't believe me?  
  
Errrr, my dog eat my computer? How about: my computer grew legs and run off to Paris? I'm really sorry, I promise it won't happen again.  
  
Anywho, thanks everyone for the great reviews, I couldn't have written the second chapter if it weren't for your encouragement. Keep them coming, reviews make my day!  
  
Summary: Two beds, five CSIs. . .if you think this is the only dilemma this scientists are going to face during their night at 'Chuck's Cabins' YOU'RE WRONG!!  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter 2: When it rains, it pours.  
  
  
  
Catherine stands in front of the door, with an uncharacteristically whiny Grissom and a walking-dead trio behind her. The team never looked so. . .miserable.  
  
Catherine opens the door (which threatens to unhinge and crumple to the floor) and gropes for a switch. Seconds later she flicks on the lights -strike that- light. There is only one solitary, sad light bulb hanging from a beam across the ceiling.  
  
"Home sweet.," Catherine's voice trails off at the bleak sight. Defiantly not the Four Seasons. Not even half a season.  
  
Nick cranes his neck from behind Sara's head and peers at their new accommodations.  
  
"Holy Ravioli," he exclaims.  
  
"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore," Sara says, patting Grissom's shoulder.  
  
Grissom's jaw plunges to the floor almost at the same time his bag hits the ground. He resists the urge to slap his hands on his cheeks and scream his lugs out like the kid on 'Home Alone'.  
  
It was summer camp all over again. A Spartan hell. One light bulb hanging in the middle of the room cast a weak light over two beds, one at each side of the ONE bedroom cabin.  
  
Kiss you privacy goodbye, he thinks.  
  
At the far end Grissom sees a table in front of something he guesses is a kitchen. A door besides the 'kitchen area' promises to be a bathroom.  
  
"Well," Catherine says after a sigh.  
  
In her best let's-put-our-best-foot-forward attitude she steps inside. The team remains fastened to the doorway, perhaps waiting to be sure the place is not toxic and letting Catherine be their guinea pig. It she doesn't clasp at her throat, gasping for air in ten seconds then the place is cleared.  
  
Catherine tosses her bag on the floor and collapses on one of the rickety beds. She bounces slightly on the springs and coughs loudly as a cloud of dust rises from the sheets.  
  
Sara shuts her nose close with her thumb and index finger as she swings around her backpack, unzips it and starts rummaging inside for something.  
  
"I claim this for the girls," Catherine says, patting the mattress. "Step in, guys. Sara where's you sense of adventure girl?"  
  
With her nose still close shut and surveying her surroundings with a sceptical eye, Sara hesitantly steps into the cabin.  
  
"In my house, comfortably tucked inside my clean-germ-free bed," Sara explains as she takes a seat at the edge of the mattress, Nonoxinol-9 in hand, aiming at the air like there was an imminent threat of a 6 feet germ attacking her.  
  
The females are inside.  
  
The males on the other hand stand rooted in place, staring at the other bed with frowns on their brows. Nick squares his shoulders, Warrick and Grissom grunt, all three struggling to look manly in the lights of the situation.  
  
They all make the maths and put two and two together. All come to the same hair raising anti-macho conclusion which is voiced by an adamant Nick.  
  
Nick shakes his head vehemently for several seconds, unable to say the words.  
  
"There's not a snowball's chance in hell the three of us are going to sleep on one bed," he says finally.  
  
Catherine lifts her head from the mattress high enough to look at him, "You can always go back to the car and make company to whatever died in there. We'll remove you corpse in the morning and drive off."  
  
Nick seems to doubt for a second; a slow horrible death versus sleeping crammed in a bed with two men. Hmmmmm. . .it's not an easy choice.  
  
Death . . .sleeping in the same bed with Grissom and Warrick. . .death. . .death. . .death. . .  
  
Nick decides he is going to go with it but he promises himself he is going to buy a sports car and get a girlfriend as soon as possible. He trudges inside and throws his bag on the floor.  
  
Warrick hustles a very wary Grissom inside the cabin after getting Grissom to stop clawing at the door.  
  
"One of us has to take the couch," Warrick says as he drops his belongings over the other bed.  
  
Nick chuckles at the sight of the decrepit and possibly flea infested couch. "That's a couch? I thought it was a leftover from an arson."  
  
Sara smiles at Nick. "You weren't planning on bunking with us or were you Naughty Nicky?"  
  
Nick grins and puts a hand on his hip, the other one points at the ceiling, "The thought did cross my mind."  
  
That elicits a laugh from Catherine and Warrick. Grissom is too worried with dying of dust-inhalation (if it is possible) to pay attention to Nick's sallies.  
  
"You're gross," Sara says as she sprays the contents of her trusty bottle over the bed, including Catherine. Catherine coughs and waves a hand in front of her face.  
  
"I'm not gross, I'm a healthy man with healthy thoughts."  
  
Cath bolts upright from the bed, picks up her bag and scrambles to the bathroom as fast as a ferret in roller blades (if you ever saw one).  
  
"First for the bathroom!" she says, slamming the door behind her.  
  
***  
  
After brief but refreshing showers Warrick, Sara, Catherine and Grissom are ready to hit the sack, enter a comatose state and snore away the entire night. Catherine is slouched on the bed with a dazzling all-teeth-showing grin on her face.  
  
After combing her hair-three not-to-energetic strokes and that was it-Sara checks under the bed for possums or any wild animal that could crawl into the bed at night, chew her toe and give her the rabies.  
  
Everyone's movements seem to be in slow-motion, eyelids start to feel heavy and speech is degraded to either one of three options: 'ah-huh', 'huh?' and 'oh'. Nick's cheerful muffled singing from behind the bathroom's door make them all wonder if the guy is on Speed.  
  
"Booooorn to be wild. . ."  
  
Grissom is slumped on the bed, drying his hair with a hand towel the size of a napkin, legs crossed at the ankle and wearing navy-blue pyjamas.  
  
He frowns at the bathroom door and smiles evilly. His smile, being a rare occurrence, catches Catherine's attention. "What are you smiling at?"  
  
Warrick, who is crouched over his open bag, sifting thought wrinkled clothes, looks up at his boss and frowns. Catherine and Sara stare at him, curious. Grissom was the last one to use the shower.  
  
Grissom smile turns into a grin.  
  
The shower starts running. "Born to be. . ." Nick steps into the shower, "Wild--AhhhhhTHERE'S NOT HOT WATER!!"  
  
***  
  
Nick saunters out of the bathroom smelling all soapy and feeling clean. There's nothing like taking an ice cold shower on a musky night. Wearing a worn pair of sweats and an old T-shirt he makes his way across the cabin and takes in the scenario.  
  
Catherine and Warrick are snuggled comfortably under the covers while Grissom and Sara (both occupying the right side of the beds) shift restlessly from one position to another. Both Grissom and Warrick are as far away from each other as the arrangements will allow.  
  
Nick takes his towel in his hands and rolls it. He uses it as a whip on what he imagines is Warrick cushy and sensitive behind.  
  
"Ouch, man!" Warrick says after the towel whip prickles sharply at his butt.  
  
He is already going to take revenge but Grissom's voice commands peace and quiet or eternal doom and the death of their carriers.  
  
Nick cast Warrick a withering look. "I can see that I got the couch. Sly move fella. Wait for the sucker to go to the bathroom and snatch the bed for you. Nice going Warrick," Nick mutters. "You're going straight down to hell."  
  
He glances at Sara who is hiding a smile behind the covers. "What you smiling at? Wanna trade places?"  
  
"Go to sleep Nick," Grissom mumbles and rolls on his side. "But turn out the lights before you do that," he adds.  
  
Nick strolls towards the switch, babbling to himself.  
  
"I've always been the unhappy idiot who turns off the lights and then stabs his toe on the furniture on the way back to bed or couch. . . or pool table."  
  
Nick smiles and mouths a 'Yeah'. That was a wild night, he thinks, the parts that I remember.  
  
"There is no furniture here so your toes are safe," Grissom reassures.  
  
Nick flips the switch but the next thing he sees is not black darkness, is -lo and behold- his finger on the switch. Nick brows furrow.  
  
"What the. . .?" he mumbles. He flickers the switch again and again. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, he thinks.  
  
"Turn it off, Nick," Warrick urges, sinking his head under the covers. "It's a simple task man, a retarded monkey could do it: you flip the switch the lights goes out."  
  
Nick glances over his shoulder and glowers at the bulk where Warrick's patronizing voice is coming from.  
  
"I am. I did, man. Four times. The stubborn thing won't go off," he turns around with his hands places at both sides of his hips as if awaiting instructions from the team on his next course of action.  
  
Sara rolls her eyes, flings the covers to Catherine's side and unglues herself from of her already warm -and most importantly- disinfected bed. Catherine is already sleeping like a log.  
  
"Men," she mutters as she waves Nick out of the way.  
  
She flips the switch and quickly-maybe too quickly-turns around to smile at Nick. Sara frowns. The light still shines obnoxiously, like part of a prank from some snickering Irish goblin.  
  
"Ahem," Nick folds his arms across his chest and taps one foot on the floor. "You were saying, 'Cranky'?"  
  
"Quit calling me 'Cranky'," Sara says and by the tone of her voice this is not the first time she requests the name to be banned from use.  
  
Nick looks down at Sara for the first time. He muffles a laugh and hides a smirk behind his hand. He leans forward and in a sotto voice he says, "Nice pyjamas, Snoopy."  
  
Sara darts him a look and without uttering a word she twirls on her heels and sashays towards the 'kitchen area'.  
  
She looks around, you can almost see her brain working on the predicament at hand. Grissom and Warrick prop themselves on their elbows, curious about the female's intentions.  
  
Sara snaps her fingers when the solution pops into her head.  
  
She starts dragging the table across the cabin, making a racket in the process. The males wince at the teeth-grinding noise. Grissom rubs his temples and wonders how such a nice woman could make such hideous noise and if his eyes aren't playing funny tricks on him.  
  
Is that Snoopy on her pyjamas? He thinks.  
  
Catherine, heavy sleeper that she is, doesn't even stir.  
  
Finally she looks up and stops under the light bulb. "Here you go Nicky. You get a disappointing F in Problem Solving 101. Unscrew the bastard."  
  
Warrick nods slowly in approval. He was surprised Sara hadn't lost her spunk after all those hours of serving as a pillow to Nick. Not even after he threw ice cream on her hair. Although that was partially Grissom's fault for diving straight into the biggest pot hole in the United States, Warrick adds to himself.  
  
Nick climbs on the table. "Don't steal my thunder, Sidle. That was going to be my next move," he says, reaching up to unscrew the bright annoyance.  
  
The last thing he saw was Sara heading for her bed, mumbling 'Yeah, yeah, whatever'.  
  
"Now kids, do not try to do this at home," Nick warns as he unscrews the light.  
  
Swiftly, darkness enshrouds he small cabin. Nick stands on the table with the light bulb in his hand.  
  
Ha! I did it, I SAVED THE NIGHT! SuperNick has done it again! What is it? Is it a bird? NO! Is it a plane? NO! It's SUPERNICK!! He's dashing, his daring, he's--  
  
"Woah." The table wobbles like jelly. Nick struggles to master the unsteady condition. "Woah. . .Ahh!"  
  
Thump.  
  
He's . . .  
  
"I'm ok."  
  
"Congratulations, now go to sleep," Grissom orders.  
  
***  
  
Approximately two hours later and miles up in the air, up in the black clouds a flash of light is followed by the fierce grumble of a thunder. Raindrops start to precipitate to earth (including to the nightshift's cabin). Drops splash on the old roof, a few at first, then an army of raindrops. The water starts seeping through a "tiny" hole on the roof.  
  
All the while the team is on beds and couches enjoying a two-way ticket ride to dreamland.  
  
Nick is sprawled on the couch, feet protruding from one end of the couch due to lack of space. He is smiling and mumbling something that is sounds like: 'My name is James, James Bond and I like it shaken but not stirred, now step away from the monkey'.  
  
Warrick has successfully tossed all the sheets over Grissom body, covering him entirely except from his feet. Grissom doesn't seem to be suffocating, yet.  
  
Sara is curled up into a minuscule ball, no sheets covering her for they were illegally snatched from her an hour ago. To Sara's left Catherine has morphed into a nice blond sheet taco. All you can see is blond hair sticking out from one end of the sheet roll.  
  
A drop plunges from the sky, squishes itself through the "tiny" hole and lands on a small metallic slit on Catherine and Sara's bed. There are a few sparkles. Sara wrinkles her nose, groans and rolls to her side.  
  
***  
  
Catherine feels like she is trapped inside a washing machine that is tumbling downhill . . .everything is shaking . . .An earthquake!! EARTHQUAKE!! Run for your lives!! Kids and small mammals first!! Save the evidence!! EARTHQUAKE!!  
  
Sara is doing rafting in some dangerous river, the raft shakes and bounces, water splashes on her face. She is happy until the river become wilder and she gets dizzy, she wants to throw up. Something is happening, the water is moving . . .something is surfacing. . .it is. . .it is . . .GODZILLA!!!  
  
"EARTHQUAKE!!" yells Catherine and she is sloshed out of her bed.  
  
"GODZZILA!!" yells Sara before her butt connects with the floorboards.  
  
Their screams yank the rest out of their sleep. It takes everyone several seconds make sense of the situation. The blackness is not helpful.  
  
One thing they all notice at once is that it is raining copiously; the second is that there is a low whirr, like a working washing machine.  
  
Sara springs upright and squints in the darkness. She reaches for her bed to prop herself up and recoils her hand from it. "The bed is shaking."  
  
"Quick," Nick says sleepily, "Someone fetch Sara a bottle of Holy Water and a priest."  
  
Warrick and Nick shuffle tiredly towards the female's-possessed-by-the- devil-bed. Grissom is still trying to untangle his limbs from the sheets. You can hear him muttering 'what the hell?' while he rolls around the bed, attempting to get free. Finally he squirms out of the sheet mess and walks towards everyone's voices.  
  
Grissom collies with the table and knocks the light bulb to ground.  
  
"There goes out only source of light," Nick says after hearing a shattering noise.  
  
Nobody seems to be concern by the fact and Grissom makes a safe passage from his bed to the other side of the room without slicing his feet with the shattered bulb.  
  
Warrick extends his hand and touches the bed. It is, in fact, trembling.  
  
"Did you put a quarter in it?" Nick asks, sitting on the shaking bed and grinning.  
  
I could get used to this, he thinks groggily.  
  
An idea crosses Nick's brain. He figures that if he wants to succeed he has to strike while the iron is hot. He wrings his hands in gleeful anticipation and starts to scheme.  
  
"Yeah, Nick. I have this sleeping problem -like somnambulism- except that I prowl around beds at night and sneak quarters in them," Sara said sarcastically.  
  
Catherine frowns. "It must've turned on by itself." She stomps one foot on the ground. "Damn it! It figures, you know. I was dreaming I was in the Bahamas with a gorgeous guy feeding me grapes and bam! The next thing I know, Earthquake."  
  
Warrick huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. "The light bulb doesn't go off and the bed starts shaking by itself. Do we see a pattern here? At least the Tahoe worked all right. It stank. . . but it worked properly."  
  
Grissom is still sleepy so his brain isn't processing everything as fast as it should. He scratches his still damp curls and yawns loudly. "Let's go back to bed."  
  
Catherine frowns in the darkness. "Grissom? Have you listened to a word we've said?"  
  
Grissom yawns again and rubs his eyes. Catherine's vocal chords could produce such annoying noises sometimes, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear.  
  
"Of course I was listening," Grissom replies. Of course I was . . .mental yawn. . .listen, the thought is never completed.  
  
There is a silence. Catherine turns to where the sound of Grissom's voice is coming from and folds her arms across her chest, defying.  
  
"I don't think so, Griss," Catherine says.  
  
Everyone waits in the dark for Grissom's comeback but his voice isn't heard. Warrick frowns and taps his boss on what he thinks is Grissom's shoulder.  
  
"Hey, boss-man!"  
  
Grissom gets startled, "Eh-Wha-wher- I'm listening Cath."  
  
Catherine's voice came out like an outraged squeal that makes Gil Grissom, Master of Coolness, to cringe.  
  
"You fell asleep! I could hear you snoring!"  
  
Grissom thanks for the masking darkness that prevents Catherine from seeing his face when he says the words: "No, I didn't and I do not snore."  
  
"I'm not sleeping in a shaking bed," Sara and Catherine say in a determined chorus.  
  
And this is my cue, Nick thinks with a grin.  
  
"Do not worry, my fair damsels in distress, Sir Warrick and Lord Grissom will love surrender their bed to secure your beauty sleep."  
  
Silence.  
  
A cricket chirps.  
  
Nick can smell victory. He crawls over the bed and plops himself down on the left side. Warrick was going to need a crane to move him from that spot.  
  
Grissom's brain cells inform him that he's been nudged. . .pushed -shoved really- into an awkward position. Should he say 'No way Jose I'm trading my unmoving bed for a shaking one' he would be viewed from here to eternity as a non- gentleman.  
  
Wait, not everything is lost, he thinks.  
  
"Maybe we should try to unplug the bed first," he reasons. Nick smile fades, he stifles a loud curse and bangs his fist on the mattress in frustration. So close.  
  
The team has a poke around the girls bed. They poke, grope, knock their way around the pitch blackness.  
  
"I'm gonna snap Stinky Chuck's neck like a twig," Sara mutters.  
  
Seeing that the bed trade will have to take place, Nick leaps on the bed again, ready to fight tooth and nail against Warrick. He knows he will prevail, he is a Texan. He's a man, darn it! His ancestors used to hunt wild beasts with rocks and freaking arrows! He should be able to draw out some of that old fire and fight for what was his.  
  
Should the moment come he will confront Warrick like a brave man and say: "Finders keepers, looser's weepers."  
  
After stepping on some unidentified substance with her bare feet again, Catherine expresses her needs. "Nick, go get a flashlight from the car. I can't see a damn thing in here."  
  
Everyone stops their poking when they hear a childish whine coming from the bed. "Awwwww nooowww. You weren't supposed to say that," Nick squealed.  
  
"We need light," Grissom concurs.  
  
"Then you go, you were the one who shattered the poor light bulb," Nick counters, groping for a reason not to go out into the pouring rain.  
  
"I'm also the one that can fire you."  
  
Rats! I always forget that one, Nick thinks, reluctant to abandon Sara's side of the bed. It smelled so nice, like a baby, not like his couch, which smelled like cheese and bad yogurt.  
  
"Wait! I-I have a sort of flashlight," Nick stalls.  
  
Sara shakes her head, "Nick this is not the time nor the place for that type of joke."  
  
Nick glares at the darkness. "I'm going to get you so bad, Snoopy."  
  
"You have to see me first so go get a flashlight," she replies.  
  
Nick tells everyone to huddle, he has to show them the alternative source of light. After groping for each other in the darkness -careful not to grope for the parts co-workers shouldn't be groping for- they managed to stand in a circle around Nick.  
  
Drums beat as the suspense builds up. . .  
  
Nick turns on the light from his wrist watch. The light was enough to cast a dim greenish glow over the you-have-got-to-be-kidding expressions of his co-workers.  
  
Nick looks at them, pleading, "It's. . . something. Hey! What if I catch pneumonia and die? It's raining cats and dogs outside! It'll be your fault, you'll have to live with that and--"  
  
"You're sooo going, man," Warrick interjects.  
  
"Why me? Why not you?"  
  
Catherine, Sara and Grissom's heads swirl towards Warrick. He presses his lips together and narrows his eyes. Warrick decides to end the would be long argument as Nick and him always did. He lifts up his fist, the gauntlet has been thrown down. Nick takes up the challenge again and raises his fist, hoping for a better luck with aquatic related activities.  
  
One, two, three. Paper and scissors.  
  
"Damn it!" a male voice says.  
  
TBC. . .  
  
Third and last chapter will come soon (provided that my flight doesn't collide in the air with Santa's jolly sleigh) 


	3. Nightshift's Crazy Cabin

**Author's notes:** I'm aware I will go to that big writer's hell deep inside the burning core of the Earth for not updating this in ages. on her knees Please forgive me!

Huge thanks to all the people that reviewed. I'm posting this because you insisted and wanted to know the end. For the wait I decided to change the ending I had in mind months ago and add a little angelic wickedness. All I'm saying is that _The End_ is not always **THE END**. Bare that in mind. . .

Kestin, if you're reading this, sorry for the 2 day delay.

Now I'll shut up and let you read. I hope I don't disappoint you. Tell me if I did, I deserve the flames. Hell, I deserve to be burnt alive!

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**June 2006. Note from the Fic Maintenance Unit (the author): **I fixed the formatting so that there weren't ten lines of white between each paragraph break. When I first posted this the story looked ok, I have no idea what happened later. One theory: my paragraphs were getting sick of each other and decided they all needed "space" to think about things.

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**Last Chapter: **

"You're sooo going, man," Warrick interjects.

"Why me? Why not you?"

Catherine, Sara and Grissom's heads swirl towards Warrick. He presses his lips together and narrows his eyes. Warrick decides to end the would-be long argument as Nick and him always did. He lifts up his fist; the gauntlet has been thrown down. Nick takes up the challenge again and raises his fist, hoping for a better luck with aquatic related activities.

One, two, three. Paper and scissors.

"Damn it!" a male voice says.

--------------------

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A bunch of lizards that were, up until that moment sleeping under the Nightshift's cabin sneak away from the site and scurry under another screaming-free cabin. God only knows which sort of demented creatures lived above but there wasn't a lizard in the world that could rest with such racket.

Psst, humans.

Nick stomps his foot on the wooden floor several times to accompany each curse.

"Darn it! I'll be damned! FU—"

"Whoa! Time out," Catherine interrupts, making a 'T' gesture with her hands, useless given their pitch-black condition.

Nick whines in the darkness. "Two out of three?"

"Soldier on, Nick," Grissom encourages while he gropes in the dark and grasps somebody's shoulders. He guides the person to the door. "Let's go."

"I'm Sara, Griss," she says, smiling.

Grissom frowns. "I _knew_ Nick wasn't so scrawny."

Locating Nick, Grissom steers him toward the door at the same time Warrick opens it. A faint light coming from one weak light post enters the room, illuminating less than a foot inside the cabin.

Nick stands on the porch and swivels his head around to evaluate the adverse weather conditions.

Rain pours behind him as if God had opened the sky's faucet. Noah's Arc is going to pad pass anytime now with a couple of giraffes sticking out of its roof.

Indeed, the rainstorm is of biblical proportions.

And he is supposed to WALK to the Tahoe in this kind of apocalyptic-end-of-life-as-we-know-it weather?

Can you say 'no _FREAKING _way'?

Plus, he thinks, when a gust of wind chills a certain part of his anatomy, it's _cold_.

He turns around to find the faces of his teammates. Their facial expressions tell him loud and clear that The Fates have pointed their bony index fingers at him, and he must rescue 'Queen Flashlight' from the 'Stinky Tahoe Haunted Castle' located deep into the 'Magic Parking Lot Woods'.

Ok, no more Tolkein for me, Nick reminds himself.

His chest swells with air as he musters the necessary courage to undertake the daunting task.

His chest deflates quickly.

God, who is he kidding? It's creepy outside. He'd been afraid of sprinklers until he age of five for Chirssake! He's still terrified of doves! (long story). There's _no_ way he's going to step a foot outside.

Nick squirms. His mind frantically searches for a viable excuse to get out of this mess.

"I could I die of pneumonia or get charred by lightening, you know? If that happens I can assure you that my scorched ghost will come from the other side to hunt you fore--"

"Here, use this as a protection," Sara says as she stretches her arm out barely beyond the doorway.

Sara hands him the curtain and swiftly snaps her arm inside the warm cabin, wringing her hands to get them warm again.

The curtain is patterned with small ducks with weird LSD looking eyes.

Nick eyes the curtain unconvincingly and then glowers at Sara.

He glances back at the raging storm behind him. For a second he thinks he sees a cow fly by, mooing confusedly, followed by Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton's red pick-up from the movie 'Twister' and then maybe Dorothy and Toto too.

He looks at his fellow CSIs, all huddled together in the doorway. Nick lifts up the shower curtain.

"You toss me into a hell of a storm in my pyjamas and a crappy shower curtain? What kind of friends are you?"

A series of mumbled 'good luck's' and the slam of the rickety door constitutes Nick's answer.

Nick scowls and then frowns. Finally he makes a tortured squeal, like a puppy who's sitting alone in the Pet Shop after all its brothers were taken.

"Fine! Let me die!" Nick shouts at the door. "The team is NOTHING without me!"

Nick ignores the hysterical laughter on the other side of the door. He flaps the curtain over his head and starts his journey.

--------------------

After struggling with the whipping wind, trying desperately to keep his clothes on and rummaging inside the Tahoe that now smelled like a flock of birds with the runs had used it as a common bathroom, Nick grips in his hand the coveted flashlight.

" . . .And my tombstone shall say 'He lived honorably and died stupidly while getting a flashlight in the middle of a Hurricane'," Nick says as he approaches the team's cabin.

Still using the bathroom curtain as a shelter he steps onto the porch. He raps twice on the door, turns on the flashlight and proceeds to push the door open.

"Here's the damn flashlight! Now let's stop the shaking!" Nick says as he pans the beam around the room.

Unfortunately, Nick gets confused when the beam illuminates a pretty overweight woman with pink curlers dotting her hair. She hugs her covers closely to her chest, attempting to cover her almost transparent nightgown.

No need, Nick thinks as he shields his eyes from the offensive view that reminds him too much of his aunt Lolly and a misfortunate room mix-up one fateful summer night.

"Ahhhhhh!" the woman screams with the power of a soprano opera singer, almost blowing Nick's hair out of its roots.

Still with his eyes firmly closed Nick stumbles out and slams the door behind him. He leans on the door and pants heavily.

After catching his breath he shouts, "Sorry ma'am! Wrong cabin!"

He wipes the sweat of his brow in a 'close shave' gesture.

Sara bolts upright from Grissom and Warrick's bed. "Did you hear that scream?"

Without opening his eyes or shifting from his impossibly great position on his cushy bed Grissom says, "Sara, you're way over the overtime limit this month. I don't care if Chuck himself is being sliced and diced with a Ginsu knife by his brother so he can inherit this goldmine of a business, you are not going to leave this cabin."

Before Sara can argue someone knocks at the door.

"That has to be Nick," Warrick says as he pads towards the door. "What's the secret password?" he asks.

From the other side Nick yells, "Open the door right now or I swear I'll make you chew your own hair and hang you from a beam by your eyelashes."

Warrick nods, "That's the one." He lets in Nick, who surprisingly isn't as wet as Warrick thought he'd be.

Catherine walks up to Nick. "_Finally,_ our problems are solved."

--------------------

Feeling deja vù all over again, the team is huddled closely together; almost cheek-to-cheek as they stare in disbelief at the sight the beam points at.

Grissom mimics Catherine's voice, making all the faces a nine year old would do to his kid sister after she squealed bloody murder for a slight pull of the hair.

"Finally our problems are solved!" Grissom said in a high-pitched voice, gesticulating wildly.

Catherine smacks him in the back of the head. Grissom gapes at her, baffled. One hand covering the back of his head wondering if Catherine had swat him with a rock.

"Quiet children," Sara commands, and the squabbles end.

Sara shakes her head from side to side. "Oh man, I'm _so_ gonna skin that disgusting Chucky alive."

"The toxic vapors from the Tahoe messed up my eyesight," Nick concludes, shaking his head as well. "This cannot be right."

"This is worse than _Camp Moose_ when Randy Kowalski took up archery and the camp had to change its name to _Camp Squirrel_," Grissom says.

Four heads and the beam of light turn towards him, utterly puzzled.

Catherine gapes at him.

"_Who_ cares about a damn moose and a squirrel Grissom? The goddamned plug is glued to the outlet!" Catherine complains. "This bed is going to be shaking all night long!"

Grissom reaches the limits of his patience. In his mind's eye he sees a roadblock with a sign that says 'Limit of Gil Grissom's patience. Keep going and die'.

"OK! OK! OK! Take our bed! You want my pyjamas too? 'Cuz I'd sleep naked, I don't care, I just want to sleep!" Grissom says.

Catherine and Sara exchange glances and smile to each other.

"OK," they say, beaming at Grissom. After blowing him two 'thank you' kisses, the females hastily make their way to Grissom and Warrick's former bed and disappear under the covers.

The three men stand up and stare at the shaking bed. Nick points at it with the flashlight. He shrugs and leaps towards the bed but Warrick clutches the collar of his shirt in mid-leap. Nick makes a chocked sound, like a chicken who's neck has been squeezed by a hand.

"Don't even think of it, Nick," Warrick says, hustling Nick back to his position.

Nick whines. Warrick growls, ever territorial.

Nick and his wounded ego retreat to their stinky couch, vowing to take revenge.

Grissom trudges to the bed and sits on it for a bit. He frowns as he decides whether the shaking is a good or a bad thing.

He feels as if his internal organs were being rearranged.

He turns pale.

"I don't like this kind of shaking," he states.

Grissom and Warrick sleep peacefully on the mattress while the bed keeps on shaking and whirring energetically. After two seconds of discussion both men opted for tossing the mattress on the floor and sleeping there. Never mind if there were roaches or other creepy crawlers.

At least the floor wasn't shaking.

--------------------

After sleeping for half an hour Nick shifts restlessly on his couch, trying to arrange his limbs in a comfortable way. When he rolls over with more force than intended, the Texan is awakened by a snap and a crack.

The couch tilts to one side and Nick's back slides slowly towards the floor until his head connects with the floorboards. Then, the motion stops.

Nick laughs quietly for a while, unable to believe what just happened. "Oh, this is just. . . priceless. This. . . this is great. Lovely."

Nick's long miserable sigh is the only sound that is heard apart from the rain.

"Guys?" Nick asks.

"Forget it, " Warrick says, foreseeing Nick's intentions of moving to the bed.

"Am I supposed to sleep like this? It's tilted. I'm not a freaking bat. . . Grissom?"

"He's asleep," Warrick snaps in a shut-up-let-me-sleep tone.

"Great. Warrick, scoot to one side a bit, I don't need a lot of space, I'm like a toothpick, you say that all the time. You won't even know I'm there—"

"In your dreams, Sparky," Grissom mumbles. "I'm not sleeping with two men in one bed. _Things_ might touch."

Grissom and Warrick shudder and move further away from each other.

Nick whines loudly.

"You can sleep here Nicky," Sara offers, patting noisily at her mattress. "Between Cath and me."

The three men bolt up from their lying positions. "What?"

Sara starts to giggle. "Gotcha!"

Her giggle turns into a hysterical laughter that lasts for five minutes. Finally she starts coughing and clearing her throat, her sides hurt.

She yawns. "That was fun," she whispers as she rolls to her side and prepares to sleep.

"You're such a tease, Snoopy," Nick mutters.

--------------------

An hour later fate decides to give Sara a taste of 'what goes around, comes around' for teasing Nick and she wakes up with the urging need to pee.

Damn her bladder and all the urinary system! She never wakes up in the middle of the night when she is at her apartment. Why break a 30-year-old pattern now? Huh, why?

Because she is in a filthy cabin, that's why. People always have to pee in the worst of times and places.

She gropes for the Nonoxinol-9, her shinny sword against bacteria.

No need to fling covers off her, Catherine has, once again, kidnapped them all.

Sara _had_ tried to snatch them from her tight grasp but the woman was a sheet-monopolizing bitch. Pardon her French. She loves Cath as a friend but come on! Loosen up a little, they're sheets, not her firstborn!

Sara slips her socked feet into her shoes and feels her way to the bathroom.

She hears a powerful snort and for a moment she thinks there's a dying cow inside the cabin. She freezes and listens.

It turns out to be Warrick.

"Now I know why he doesn't have a girlfriend," Sara whispers to herself, "The guy snores like a mammoth."

When she comes back from the bathroom trip Sara is not aware of the daredevil raccoon that is balancing precariously on the beam above her bed.

She crawls back into her bed and attempts, once more, to acquire at least a square foot of covers.

Placing her feet on Catherine's back, she tugs at one tip of the covers.

"C'mon," she whispers, grunting as she pulls with all her might.

Catherine growls in her sleep and jerks the covers from Sara's grasp. Sara, light thing that she is, topples backward onto the ground with a thud.

Muttering all the obscenities she can recall, she climbs on the bed again. Giving her back to the bulge of covers that is Catherine, Sara pouts and curls up her bruised body into a ball.

A covers-less ball, she adds.

Yeah, Sara, a covers-less ball.

Suddenly, something quite heavy lands on Sara's head.

It squeaks. Sara sucks in a breath only to release it a second later. . .

"Ahhhhhhhhh," Sara screams as she stands up on the bed and starts to prance in a circle, utterly terrified.

Catherine is bounced off the bed by Sara's crazy jumping.

(Don't worry, with all the covers she has wrapped around herself you could toss her from the Empire State's top floor and the blond could bounce safely back to the top or a nearby building. She might break a few windows but she'll come out unharmed).

The raccoon panics and squeals, mimicking Sara's scream.

After all, all he was doing was walking on the beam, minding his own business when BAM! His back paw erred the way and he precipitated to the ground, landing on something hairy that jumped and . . .. Well, it was all very confusing, from a raccoon's point of view.

Everyone wakes up mumbling, "What? What is it?"

The raccoon leaps from Sara's head and streaks away into the bathroom. Sara reaches for her Nonoxinol-9 and flings it at the furry thing.

Or at _something_.

"Ahhhhhhgoddammit!" a male voice screams.

Nick quickly grabs the flashlight. After panning it wildly for a moment, the beam points at a distressed Sara. She's standing on the bed looking completely, 100, absolutely grossed out.

Nick lowers the beam, following her gaze, until it connects with Grissom.

Grissom is half asleep and rubbing his head. "What the crap is going on! Every time I doze off the damn world collapses! And what in GOD'S GREEN EARTH HIT ME?"

Nick shifted the beam back to Sara who is now covering her mouth in a shocked expression.

Nick catches the movement near the bathroom and yells, "It's in the bathroom!"

Catherine wriggles out of her sheet roll, runs and closes the door with a bit more force than intended.

The handle winds up in her hand. "Oopsy."

"Oopsy? Why oopsy?" Warrick says, starting to panic.

Catherine turns around and shows the doorknob. "It. . .fell off."

The cabin stays in silence until they all hear a laughter-like squeaking and squealing from the bathroom, along with some splashing of water.

Grissom snorts. "Oh well, doesn't this cap it all? Now we're going to have to sleep with a freaking raccoon frolicking inside our bathroom. I am _never _leaving my townhouse again!"

With that, he collapses on the bed again and is fast asleep while the rest of the team stands in their places.

"Grissom?" Warrick shakes his boss by the shoulder, fearing he might have fainted. He's rewarded with a grunt and a snore.

Nick turns off the flashlight. "You heard the boss. Time to sleep. Raccoon or not."

--------------------

Ahhh, the bright morning, the start of another day.

Everything is peaceful inside the Nightshift's Cabin. The raccoon sleeps soundly on the sink after a long night of play.

Outside the bathroom, golden shafts of light streak through the blinds, revealing . . .well . . .where to start?

Warrick is sleeping diagonally on the mattress, arms and legs sprawled, mouth cutely parted with _not_ so cute drool dripping from it. After hours of unconscious nudging, elbowing and kicking, Warrick Brown succeeds in expelling his boss from the mattress, except for one of Grissom's feet, which is pretty close to Warrick's face. He doesn't seem to mind.

Grissom lays sprawled on the floor. Apparently he looks quite happy and comfortable. He's using a pair of Sara's red and blue striped socks as a makeshift pillow.

Two hours ago Nick finally discovered a way to sleep. He moved his tired body from the stinky couch to the small table. He's in the same position in which he collapsed two hours ago: head slightly lolling from one edge of the table, arms and legs sprawled at different angles.

All we see of Catherine is her hair. She continues to selfishly posses all the covers and believe it or not three-quarters of the bed.

Sara, despite how feisty she is when she's awake, can't hold her ground on a bed.

Sara is lying face down, one long leg on the mattress (because the other doesn't fit in the slit of mattress Catherine had left her) the other bent at the knee and on the floor, keeping Sara from rolling off again. Snoopy Sidle hugs her bottle of Nonoxinol-9 as if it were her long lost Teddy bear, Bubblegum, whom she deeply adored from the age of 2 to 8.

Sara mumbles something and shifts, accidentally spraying herself in the face and oh-o, crumpling to the ground.

"Ouch," she moans.

Again, everyone bolts upright but a bit more slowly now. Several seconds pass before their sleepy brains process the events.

After several yawns and head scratching they all mumble a disjointed cacophony of 'What? Hello? Where am I?'

Sara squishes her eyes close and moans. "I sprayed myself!" Sara says barely able to open her stinging eyes.

Grissom runs his hand on the bump on his head.

"That bottle is dangerous to human kind," he says and frowns when Sara stares at him.

"I know, my hair isn't pretty in the mornings," Grissom says, running a self-conscious hand through his ruffled hair.

"It's not that, Griss. What the hell are you doing with my socks?"

While the team prepares to leave there are a few . . . wet surprises.

Sara and Grissom sleepily pad towards their bags while Nick, Warrick and Catherine discuss how are they going to change if the bathroom is closed. Their conversation is interrupted by Sara and Grissom's voices.

"Dammit!"

"Jesus Lord NO!"

Catherine, Warrick and Nick turn around and ask, "What?"

"My clothes are all soaked," Sara and Grissom said in unison, wringing their pants and watching the water drip down from their pants to their knuckles and finally to the floor.

Nick chuckles. "Oh this is good."

After Warrick convinced Grissom that gutting Nick like a fish would _not_ make his clothes dry, those who _had_ their clothes dry changed while the rest covered their eyes.

When they're all ready, the strange procession of ill-slept CSIs trudges to the door with promises of not leaving their homes again; strong hopes of never returning and desires of cutting Chuck's head off and setting the whole place on fire.

They stand in the doorway, scanning the cabin that had housed them for the night. Suddenly when they are all starting to spin on their heels and walk away to never EVER come back, the bed stops shaking for the first time in nine hours.

"_That_ did not happen," Grissom says stoically and closes the door without looking back.

--------------------

While Warrick waits around the car, Sara, Catherine, Nick, and Grissom walk into Chuck's cabin where a fierce battle is being fought. The fat lady is quite agitated; it seems she's been screaming her head off at the half-brained Chuck for a while, obviously with nothing more than rhythmic absent nods from the manager.

" . . .There's nothin' I can do ma'am," Chuck insists as he pops in two nachos into his mouth and chews them loudly.

"_What?_ But I'm _telling_ you! You have a sex maniac in this place of yours!"

Nick purses his lips in a silent whistle, turns on his heel and walks away.

Not noticing Nick's exit, Sara strolls calmly towards the vending machine while Catherine and Grissom continue towards the counter where the fat lady is.

Chuck turns to Catherine, flagrantly ignoring the outraged yapping of the fat lady.

"This place is crawling with nutcases!" she says and stalks away.

She stops at the sight of Sara, in her Snoopy pyjamas, spraying her Nonoxinol-9 on the vending machine's buttons. Feeling a pair of eyes on her, Sara slowly swivels her head around and regards the woman with her grouchiest expression.

"What? I lost the other one," she says and keeps hitting the _Snickers_ logo.

"Lunatics!" the fat lady screams again as she stomps down the stairs. "Snoopy pyjamas and flashlight sexual predators!"

Chuck shrugs in a what-can-you-do gesture and pops three nachos into his mouth.

"You're in your pyjamas," Chuck understates, spitting bits of nachos over him as he speaks.

Grissom looks down at himself, sickened. He cleans his pyjamas with one violent wipe of his hand and stares at Chuck and his nachos as they swirl around his open mouth, like clothes inside a washing machine.

"I guess evolution _can_ go backwards," Grissom mutters.

"Oh, aren't we in a bitchy mood," Chuck says.

"_We_ are leaving. Here are your keys and your money," Grissom said without a smile as he drops both on the filthy counter besides the nachos.

"You're leaving? So soon?" Chuck sounds honestly sad.

Grissom doesn't give a rat's ass.

"Yeah, I have to get my legs waxed," Grissom mutters as he heads to the door, tapping Sara on the shoulder on his way to let her know they were leaving. Catherine follows Grissom but turns around at the doorway.

"Oh, and you have a raccoon locked inside your bathroom," Catherine adds, before disappearing outside.

--------------------

"Nick, you go out front with Cath. I'm trading you for Grissom," Sara says, grasping Grissom's pyjamas from the shoulder and hustling him towards her, like her toy of choice to hug on the trip.

Grissom looks at her but makes no attempt to speak for himself. What Sara is requesting is just fine with him.

Warrick leans over Nick and takes a cautious sniff. When the smell reaches his brain he leaps back and screws up his face.

"Lord have mercy on us! You reek!"

Warrick hides behind Grissom and grasps the fabric of his pyjamas from the other shoulder.

"I want Grissom too," Warrick concurs.

Grissom's upper lip lifts slowly upward in a controlled disgusted gesture.

Sara saying 'I want you' is kind of exiting for Grissom but Warrick… After they had slept on the same bed?

Grissom thinks he has to break a wild horse or hunt for something furry and edible with a spear to retrieve his lost masculinity.

He shrugs off Warrick's hand. He doesn't shrug off Sara's hand, though.

"You're exaggerating," Nick says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Sara's face turns serious, or as serious as it can turn given the fact that she's clad in Snoopy pyjamas.

"Nick, you smell like food that's been in the fridge for too long and has things growing on it," Sara explains patiently.

Nick gapes at her, hurt.

"It was that damn couch—It's not my fault!" he says, moving Grissom out of the way to climb into the back seats.

Sara doesn't let him and moves Grissom back to where he is, which is, blocking one of the back doors.

After being manhandled for two minutes while Warrick and Sara convinced Nick he really truly smelled, Grissom shouts a few orders and in the snap of a finger they all scrambled into the car and the Tahoe was heading back towards Las Vegas.

Catherine had been the one who got the most sleep so she was the designated driver.

"It wasn't so bad," Catherine says, fifteen minutes into their driving. "I don't feel tired. You guys?"

She turns around.

Sara's is using Grissom's shoulder as a pillow while he uses Warrick's shoulder as a pillow. The three of them are sound asleep. Nick is slouched on the passenger seat, sill stinking but looking cuter than ever.

"Never mind," she says.

_The End. _

**Finis.**

**No more.**

**That's it.**

**Stop reading.**

**Go pet your cat/dog.**

**No?**

**Ok, let me think.**

**Maybe Ilied before.**

**You got me, you CSI-in-the-making, you.**

**I lied. **

**Yes, one more thing happened before the end . . .**

The Tahoe jerks and surges forward. All its sleeping passengers are flipped in the air like human pancakes.

Sara winds up with her torso wedged between the back of the front seat and the front of the back seat. Grissom is catapulted forward and ends up hugging the handbrake while Warrick flies to the right and lands over Grissom's back suddenly wearing Sara's legs as a scarf. Nick is lifted in the air and then dropped on the seat again, feet over the dashboard and head where his butt is supposed to rest.

In the middle of I-15 a once blue Tahoe wobbles to grinding halt.

"Heeeeeeey!" Sara's muffled voice says. "A quarter!"

"I think I won't be able to have children," Grissom mumbles against the handbrake.

Ignoring her co-workers, Catherine pokes her head out the window and then snaps it back in. She looks worried.

"Oh boy. We got a flat tire," she announces.

Sara's muffled voice is heard again. She sounds like she's under the car and not inside it. "So? I know how to change a flat."

"We don't have a spare tire," Catherine adds.

Grissom sniffed, he's about to cry.

"Ok," Sara's voice replied.

Sara pauses and then, very, very confidently she asks:

"You're kidding me right?"

**THE END.**


End file.
